


Mac and Dennis Beat the Heat

by apollos



Series: all the times in-between [2]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Class Issues, Coda, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 21:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20552807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollos/pseuds/apollos
Summary: Dennis resolves their obvious class differences. Coda for 6x05, "Mac and Charlie: White Trash."





	Mac and Dennis Beat the Heat

Even after all the business with the pools and the fire hydrant, it's still hot as shit, the heat wave lingering long into the week. One in the afternoon, Dennis and Mac on the floor of their apartment, shirtless, three fans pointed towards them, groaning intermittently. They had attempted to watch a movie and gave up, minds swimming inside their skulls.

Dennis looks over at Mac. He's sprawled—they both are—and it's lewd, almost, the lines of sweat down his chest, the shorts stretched across his crotch. He only works his glamor muscles, sure, but they're glamor muscles for a reason. His skin gets read with heat, his neck flushed. "Dude," Dennis says.

"Huh?" Mac rolls his head and blinks at Dennis, so sweaty his long eyelashes are a little matted. He looks sleepy, half-lidded, and Dennis grabs ahold on the three braincells he has left.

"You think if you shaved your—beard, I guess it is, you'd be cooler?"

"What?" Mac blinks on him, then touches the scruff on his face. "No way, bro. It insulates me."

"Insulates."

"Yeah. Like construction workers, you know how they're always in those long-sleeved shirts? Insulation. Simple science." The words lack the usual manic thrust behind Mac's argument; he draws them out lazily and slowly, his head against the couch.

"I thought the only construction workers you were familiar with were the Village People type." Dennis grins. "You know. Gay porn."

"Yeah, yeah. I got the joke." Mac's eyebrows dip, his nose scrunching, a half-hearted attempt at his usual expression of outrage. Dennis lets one of his hands flop lazily towards Mac, feels one of those temperature-irrelevant shivers move up his spine when Mac brushes his fingertips against his palm.

They sit and stare at each other for a few moments. It's so hot, Dennis thinks, and it melds with _he's so hot_, and he's never been one much for poetry or wordplay but he's enjoying these double meanings. Privately. To himself. The smile on his face, well—it melted there, muscles drooping in the warmth.

"You really think I'm white trash?" Mac asks, after Dennis is almost certain he's fallen asleep. His voice is soft, but despite the rumbling noise from the three fans, Dennis picks it up immediately.

"Well, yeah." Dennis snorts.

Mac sighs and moves his head away from Dennis.

"Hey." Still barely touching, Dennis grabs at Mac's hand fully. "Hey dude, don't get all, like, depressed about it. You are who you are."

"I'm not depressed," Mac says, pronouncing the word _depressed _like _chlamydia _or like when he says _I'm not gay, Dennis _after sucking Dennis's cock. "I just—you know how when you said you thought you'd be married by now?"

Dennis lets go of Mac's hand and pulls his knees up. "Yeah," he says, making it sound more like a question.

"I guess, I dunno. I thought I'd have money one day."

"You have my money," Dennis says. He means it, too—Mac's credit is trash, Dennis pays all the rent, Dennis buys Mac his shit, lets him use his shit, lets him dig his shirts out of the trash and cut the sleeves off instead of Dennis giving them directly to Mac because not only would that be _gay_, the word they're never allowed to say or even hint at, but Mac would take it as a personal offense.

"I thought I would be _independent_," Mac says.

"You totally are!" Dennis tries to enthuse, sitting up. "You're the one who cleans, and the one who makes sure we eat, dude! You earn your keep, totally. I'd be _lost _without you."

Mac cracks a smile, the one that goes up too far on one side, the one that Dennis has to guard himself against. "You're laying it on thick, bro."

"Hey." Dennis grabs Mac's shoulder. "Don't go all—fucking bummed, or whatever, on me like that, alright? I don't like to see it. No, I don't like to see it at all."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Mac shrugs Dennis's hand off. "_Shit_, it's hot. This is fucking Philly, dude, what is this shit?"

"Global warming."

"Oh, fuck off with that."

"What? The God shit?" Dennis pokes at Mac again.

"It's too hot to fight, Den," Mac says, and Dennis's heart does that annoying flippy thing that happens whenever Mac shortens his name like that, even when he does it in public, an assured accident (especially when he does it public—yes, Mac, let those idiots know.) "Stop looking at me like that. It's too hot to bang, too."

"Nah." Dennis pulls himself closer to Mac, leans in towards him. "I mean, yes, it is too hot to bang, fully—all that sweat, gross—but we could, you know." He makes the jack-off motion with his hand.

"Oh, bro." Mac smiles again. "Totally. Hot handjobs are the _best_."

"Totally white trash, though."

"What? How are hot handjobs white trash?"

"'Cause you got no A.C., 'cause you can't afford it, 'cause you're white trash—"

"We have A.C., you pay for the A.C.—"

"Shut up, Mac!" Dennis's hands have been working the hem of Mac's shorts while they talk, and he plunges them inside. Mac's not wearing underwear; he's wearing these weird gym-short types thing, flimsy gray sweatpants material with a drawstring. The skin inside, in the nooks of his thighs and under his balls, is sweaty, impossibly hot. Dennis burns inside his own skin, but in a different way, a good way. "Just let me do this."

"_Oh_," Mac says, a sound of realization and pleasure all at once. He's only a little hard, but Dennis knows him: he twists too rough at the base and the head, then takes his hands back to spit in them, to let Mac wait. Mac looks at him with those lidded eyes, pupils blowing fat and black from arousal.

"Yeah, so." Dennis dips his hands back in, leaning in close to Mac so he can nip at his jaw and whisper in his ear. "You're fucking white trash, you got it? But I help you out." He tugs hard at Mac's cock, times his words with his movements. "I pay for you. My _boy toy_."

"Yeah, I'm your boy toy," Mac says. His eyes slide shut.

Dennis has an image of Mac at the side of a pool, oiled up, skimming leaves out. They're in a mansion, of course, and Dennis would let Mac sleep in the California King in the gold-plated room as long as Mac cleaned the pool and gave Dennis what he wanted. The image is impossibly hot. "And what do boy toys do?" he asks, breathing on the shell of Mac's ear.

"Get fucked," Mac responds.

"Good boy." Dennis sucks Mac's earlobe into his mouth, runs his tongue around it, smiles when Mac whimpers. Dennis is hard now, too, and he pushes his shorts and underwear down with one hand to touch himself.

Mac's not as far gone as Dennis thought; quick, like he's doing one of those dumbass karate chops, he's taking Dennis's hand away from Dennis's own cock, replacing his own. To get a good angle he has to turn himself, so now instead of talking in Mac's ear, Dennis is hovering over Mac's lips. Well, fuck it—Dennis prods Mac's mouth open with his tongue.

Mac lets him kiss him like that for a bit, their breath humid and mouths wet, pulling away from each other to just pant from the heat every once in a while. Both their hair has wilted from the gelled styles—they even share a bottle of hair gel, _fuck_, Dennis _owns _him—and it looks so good from what Dennis can see, that one little strand that sometimes falls. "I gotta jack you off," Mac says, minutes belated. "Gotta make the master feel good, right?"

"Oh, oh _fuck_," Dennis says. He mashes their mouths together so they're kissing while he comes, the heat in the area surrounding their dicks unbearable. Dennis nearly forgets himself but keeps grounded enough—those three braincells—to bite down on Mac's lip, hard enough to let blood explode, and jam a knee between Mac's legs, giving Mac something to hump beside his hand. Mac gets there a minute later, come as hot as lava, all over Dennis's hand and leg.

They slump back apart, and they're both so overheated at this point, it doesn't matter if one of their legs hook over the other's and Dennis's hand is in the center of Mac's chest like an upturned tortoise shell, just the way he likes it, just like he'd tried to do in the back of the van before he remembered where they were. Cocks out, shorts tangled between their thighs, semen starting to harden on Dennis's stomach and leg and some on the hardwood floor.

Dennis thinks about saying, _I didn't mean it_, but he did mean it, and he knows Mac meant it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> mac & dennis beat the heat...by beating their meat! hey-o! i couldn't resist. the fic is serious, i'm just an idiot, sorry.


End file.
